


Paleblood

by LMsExistentialDread



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bloodborne Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Certain liberties taken with canon, Complicated Relationships, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-09 08:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18634363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMsExistentialDread/pseuds/LMsExistentialDread
Summary: Who dreams the Hunter's Dream? Not the Doll, and neither does Akande, for it is a little dream of a nightmare.





	1. Chapter 1

The ankle-high water Gabriel wades through runs crimson with the blood. The salty and slightly rotten aroma of the sea struggles to hide the wet smell of iron and viscera in the air. Gabriel stops a few meters away from the well where with his back turned to him, Jack stands: gloved fingers resting on the stone edge and shoulders hunched.

Jack turns, his face marred with splattered blood mingling with the raindrops, and holds his gaze until his eyes drift lower, at the sword held in his hand. Something stirs in Gabriel’s gut as he sees Jack’s lips twist in a grimace of revulsion, teeth grinding together and the grasp on the handle spasming.

In one fluid movement, Jack throws the blade into the well and Gabriel observes his heaving back until the strange reverie shatters with Akande’s voice calling them to him.

“We’ve done a great wrong here today,” Jack whispers passing him by.

“Where is your sword?” Akande later asks.

“I’ve lost it in one of the houses,” Jack lies lightly while his eyes drift to Gabriel, and Gabriel wonders what does this mean - this untruth told unflinchingly without the slightest hesitation - is it the first or one of the many? “It will turn up, eventually.”

He adds nothing.

 

*

 

The first time Jesse stumbles into the quaint dream of the nightmare, it is with the memory of fangs sunk into his throat and claws rending his flesh apart still fresh in his mind.

Down the cobblestone path, with a gentle hand grazing the tops of gravestones littered between tall grass and blooming flowers, walks a pale man with his head turned to the side.

“Is it the night of the Hunt again?”

Jesse draws his revolver and almost pulls the trigger when a stronger breeze brushes against his leg.

“Don’t startle the guest,” the pale man smiles as strands of golden hair sway with each movement of his head. “Welcome to the Hunter’s Dream, good hunter. You can rest and prepare yourself here, and when you are ready, venture forth. Come, there are tools in the workshop, and don’t mind him, we do not entertain guests often.” The man turns away. “You can call me Jack.”

“Jesse.”

“Nice to meet you, Jesse,” Jack rests his hand on the doorframe, the small segmented sections of his fingers clicking together seamlessly.

 

*

 

The Hunter falters and falls to his knees, the violent cough wracking his form as blood flows between his fingers clasped tightly to his mouth. Above him, the Moon looms close, an unwavering eye gazing down upon the cursed streets.

The Hunt in his veins sings sweetly with the promise of the worthy prey, and the Hunter, still heaving from the last bout of sickness, uncrumples the note scribbled with his own hand that guides him with the words of Paleblood and transcendence that maybe once held meaning but now ring empty.

With a grunt, the Hunter rises leaning on his blade and wipes the blood with the back of his hand. He steps forward, under the crumbling arch, into the sound of a Beast’s roar, and it feels like the home he never knew he left behind.


	2. Chapter 2

The Hunter’s Dream remains unchanged, and as he walks the curved path leading to the workshop, Jesse briefly considers the closed gate beyond which a field of moonflowers grows. He pays it no mind except for a fleeting wonder at the flowers reaching desperately towards the giant sunlike moon.

  
“Welcome back, good hunter. Is there anything I can assist you with?” Jack inquires from the chair where he sits with his legs pulled up, one hand loosely hanging off the armrest - the other in his lap.

  
Jesse looks away, at loss with his words until he remembers the book bound in brown cracked leather in his grasp.

  
“No,” he shakes his head. “I noticed,” Jesse gestures nervously to the bookcase, “and then found this.”

  
“Thank you, good hunter,” Jack’s fingers his hand brushes against are polished wood warm to the touch and yet ever so slightly colder than living flesh, harder, unforgiving. “That’s very thoughtful of you. We enjoy the books, but there is only so many of them.”

  
Leaving, Jesse feels eyes boring into his back, the heavy inquisitive gaze almost physical but not malign. He turns only to see Jack perched on the threshold with the book in his hand, just by the strange fountain where the messengers crowd leaning towards him. He reads aloud, words mingling together in deep flowing cadence.

  
*

  
The workshop stands engulfed in flames - the whole structure, be it wood or stone, burns casting billowing clouds of smoke into the darkened sky - and the Doll greets him with his hands clasped together.

  
“You have come,” the Doll smiles, but the Hunter cannot shake the deep melancholy that seems to grip him for no reason apparent. “This night will soon end, as will the dream, my hunter. It is, after all, time to wake up and leave the nightmares behind.” He bows his head slightly. “Akande awaits you in the stone garden, at the foot of the great tree.”

  
The iron gate always shut tight by an unseen force before, and now open, is a way of no return, this the Hunter knows.

  
“I fear this burden may soon become unbearable so I beg of you, my hunter, find your worth in the waking world,” the Doll whispers.

  
The Hunter’s steps, light and wary, part the sea of glowing flowers. His eyes notice every aged gravestone piled on top of one another or trampled into the dirt under his feet, and Akande, seated in the wheelchair beneath the gnarled tree, beckons him closer - speaks of release earned and salvation due if he yields.

  
The Hunter’s hand twitches to his side as he freezes despite offered reprieve from the sweet song of the Hunt, for the thought, sudden and treacherous, of ever deferring to this man again fills him with revulsion flaring his nostrils in disgust. The potent smell of blooming crocuses he struggles against conspires to bring him down to his knees.

  
“Well then, it always comes to the hunters’ helper to clean up after these sorts of messes,” Akande speaks as he rises from the chair.

  
*

  
In the flickering light of the small lamp mingling with the glow of the moon, the whole room appears as if dream and reality fight over the reign in the dancing shadows. Jack, with his skin still covered in a glistening sheen of sweat, rolls to rest on his side, and smiles; Gabriel had never beheld a smile harboring such an amount of sadness in his life before.

  
Pale fingers cross the distance between them and rest on his face, trace the shape of his cheekbones and brows, and Gabriel keeps his silence.

  
“I want to remember you,” Jack answers the question unspoken as Gabriel’s hand rises to caress his wrist.

  
“Are you leaving?”

  
“No.” 

  
A lie, one of many, but in this quiet moment he can forgive, Gabriel knows, and hear it for the truth it is not supposed to be. He can push away the raising whispers of Cainhurst, the unfinished letter on the desk, the wilted flowers in the vase. He can ignore the sadness and the faraway look. 

  
So instead, he brings the pale fingers to his lips and kisses each of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lumenflowers - I'll call them moonflowers because that's what they are (except for the whole transcendence deal)  
> Crocuses - There was this goddess, Flora...
> 
> Thanks for kudos :)

**Author's Note:**

> The most interesting part of Bloodborne for me is the question: who is the Hunter and how do they know of Paleblood?
> 
> Might continue, might not - not ransoming it though at all, it depends on inspiration and how far trying to look at Bloodborne events from less westernized point of view will take me.
> 
> Hope this little thing from 3 different points of view was enjoyable.


End file.
